Apprentice Hawk
by IceFyre3170
Summary: I'm grateful that SHIELD paid my bail, that they're willing to train me as an agent, and that they've gotten none other than the famous Hawkeye to do it. But Avengers in public are a lot different from Avengers in private, and that whole 'hero' thing doesn't seem to carry over well into normal life. Especially when it comes to raising and training a sixteen year old ex-criminal.
1. A New (Lousy) Life

If it was any other day, I'd be thrilled about being in the compound. It's not like it's a normal thing, to be taken to the Avengers facility. But yesterday has kind of ruined today. My bail must have been…

Let's just say that I really don't want to know what my bail was.

"$% # it, Fury, I've already said NO!" I press my ear closer to the door. They've been going at this for I-don't-know-how-long.

"I've already told you, Agent—"

" _Former_ agent."

"Well then, _Former_ Agent Barton, I've already told you that this doesn't involve you coming back into active work."

"$% # it, Fury," Barton says again, "When you told me you had a simple job for me, I figured it was just show up and look good for the cameras with the rest of the team, maybe shoot a couple arrows. This—this…" He trails off. I wish I could look through the keyhole.

"I'm asking you to help train a possible agent. She's apparently quite good at archery."

"You're asking me to take a criminal into my house! Have you forgotten that I have _young children_?"

"She was never convicted and the crimes that she was arrested for were exclusively nonviolent."

"I don't care! She herself said that she'd broken into—oh, I don't know, some ungodly number, where's that file—"

I faintly hear papers ruffling and a not so faint, almost squeakily shrill curse.

"WHAT?!"

Something slaps against the ground.

"Fury, you son—"

"Barton."

"You expect me to take someone with that kind of a record into my house?!"

"I expect you to at least try to believe that I am not, in fact, insane."

"No."

"Barton…"

"No. No. No. No. N—"

"Agent Six."

"I—" Barton's voice kind of chokes off, and the two men are silent for a while. Then, "I owe you my life for that. You know that. But I've never done anything for you that would make me owe the safety of my wife and children to you."

"Barton." Fury's voice has a pleading note in it.

"Still no, Fury." I hear a boot scuff the floor and papers crumpling. The boots stomp to the door, and I'm walloped in the side of the head by the door. I cry out.

"And Fury?"

"Barton?"

"Tell your little prodigy to stop eavesdropping." Then he, Barton that is, I don't think Fury has moved at all, thumps out the door. Halfway across the room we're in, he turns around and his glaring eyes lock with mine. "And that her hair looks stupid." And he's gone.

I reach up and touch my straight black hair, feeling how it slants from barely tickling my left ear to falling just below my right shoulder.

Rory liked it.

I shoulder my backpack and start to walk away too. I should feel grateful to SHIELD, they paid my horrendous bail, but I don't want this. I want to get off the street, yeah, but I want to go to college, not join whatever army branch they count as now. That's why I steal, not fight.

Well, I'm lost.

I should have known this would happen. Trust me to get lost in the building I'm trying to leave. If I hadn't gone through that window and into that pool last night, I might have been embarrassed.

I turn a corner and walk straight into a redheaded woman.

Seems like I'm destined to screw up my meetings with every famous person in the freakin' universe.

She gets up before I do, grabs my wrist, and pulls me to my feet.

"Thanks," I gasp. I think I must have bruised something when I hit the water, that hurt a lot worse than it should.

"No problem." She smiles. "You know, I don't know where you're heading, but this leads to the kitchen."

Funny thing, but I'm actually not hungry right now. It's a pretty nice feeling. "Oh. I was trying find the exit."

"Yeah, you should have taken a right turn a few left turns ago."

"Umm… ok. I'm Sophie, by the way."

"Natasha."

"I knew that already," I say, then blush, because, truth be told, I'm a bit of a stalker when it comes to the Avengers.

"Well, then I'm not ashamed to say that I knew your name too. Fury mentioned you, said he wanted Clint to train you."

"Yeah, about that—"

Natasha shakes her head. "So I gathered. I haven't seen him looking that thunderous since Budapest. No worries, Fury will find someone else to train you."

"Maybe he doesn't want me trained anymore," I say, trying to figure out if I should sound dejected or hopeful, because I really don't know which to be.

"That kind of bail? Yeah. He wants you trained." She motions for me to follow her. "Come on, want to see the team?"

Are you kidding me? The greatest risk is that I'll bounce so hard off the walls that I'll literally explode.

"Cap's sparring with them now," Natasha tells me as she leads me to the training center.

Look! I'm floating so much that my head is rubbing against the ceiling!

Oh, wait, that's my grin. I wipe it mostly off of my face. Less maniacal. Good.

Then we're there.

Look! Avengers!

Captain America, Falcon, Scarlet Witch, the Vision, _and_ War Machine! _And_ Black Widow is standing right next to me.

That pop was my brain imploding. Watch the mess.

Captain America looks up and salutes Natasha. "Agent Romanoff!"

"Hey, Cap."

"Who's that you have with you?"

"Fury's bailout."

"Barton didn't agree to train her?"

"Barton threw a hissy fit."

"Ah." He salutes me. "I'm sorry about that."

"It's fine."

"Sure." He motions towards the ground. "You want to come down here?"

Are. You. Kidding. Me? YESIWANTTOCOMEDOWNTHERETHEREAREAVENGERSDOWNTHEREAAAAAAH!

"That won't be necessary."

Oh crap.

Oh, _crap_.

Natasha turns around. "Clint?"

"Hey, Nat." He smiles at her. Then his gaze comes back to me and the smile disappears. "You." He nudges his chin towards me. "Come on, you're coming with me."

Natasha smiles too, but her eyes look strained. "Changed your mind, Clint?"

"Laura changed it for me." He nods down into the training area. "Captain."

"Barton."

Scarlet Witch looks up at Barton and smiles. "Hello, Clint."

He smiles again, too. He doesn't look so evil when he smiles. "Hey, Wanda."

He's not smiling for long, though.

I've been in a lot of awkward situations, but this is _awkward_. I hitch my backpack up higher on my back and start to walk away from the training arena. Barton says, "Be seeing you, guys," and walks away too. We don't look at or talk to each other until we reach a white SUV, one of the ones with the sliding doors in the back, like a business van.

"Get in."

I open the door to the seat next to the one that the driver sits in, shotgun, I think it's called, and get in. I'll admit it, this is only the third time I've ever ridden in a car. And I've ridden both others in the past twenty-four hours.

Barton glances my way. "Seatbelt." Right. Seatbelt. I knew that. Must not ride car while not wearing seatbelt, or lightning bolt will fry car.

(What, exactly, is the point of a seatbelt, anyways? It's not like I'm going to start dancing while the car is moving.)

The car kicks to life and we start driving without another word. After ten minutes or so I get bored and take out a prized possession of mine, an iPod. Yes, it's stolen, yes, it's something that would be worth more to me pawned, but Rory-

"HEY!"

I grab Barton's arm and the car swerves wildly, causing other drivers to honk their horns and wave their fingers around and whatnot.

"Hey! Hey! Kid, let go of my arm!"

"Give that back! That's MINE!"

Me still hanging on his iPod-holding arm, Barton swerves out of the lanes into a parking spot and screeches to a halt.

"What _exactly_ are you thinking to do?"

"GIVE. IT. BACK!" I yell, pounding my fist against his arm.

In response, he switches the iPod to his other hand and twists his arm out of my grasp. I unbuckle my seatbelt and dive over him, grabbing hold of the iPod and pulling with all my might.

I feel the pain in my wrists almost before his free hand comes down on them. I let go with a gasp and shrink back into my own seat.

No, not my seat, I don't want anything this—this _creature_ has touched. _The_ seat.

He holds up the iPod—ok, amending that, I don't want _most_ things that he's touched, it's still my iPod, not his—and looks at me. Not quite lasers this time, but still smoldering.

"This one of the things you've stolen?"

"It's mine."

"Answer my question."

"It's _mine!_ "

"Stolen." He drops it in his pocket, and I start to dive at him again, but my wrists don't comply, so I stay in my seat after all.

"Give. That. Back."

"I'm going to. To the police, so they can give it to the rightful owner."

He starts the car up again and drives back onto the road. It's a full five minutes before I come up with a retort. Not a good one, but maybe…

"I _really_ hate you."

"The feeling is mutual," Barton sighs, turning left out of the city, "I assure you."

Like I couldn't tell before.

 **So, hi! I'm IceFyre3170 (like you didn't notice before), and I'm new to publishing fan fiction. (I've written it a lot, but just for myself, and the results can be... less than stellar.) I have some concept of how this site works after reading a few works on here, but me being me, I've probably gone and screwed something up. Please review! The good, the not-so-good, every comment helps :) I should update fairly frequently, time and school permitting.**


	2. Other Bartons

**Ok, the first chapter has been up for a while and nothing has exploded *knock on wood*, so I'm going to assume nothing** _ **will**_ **explode if I write another. (Hey, with this computer, you never know. The thing's sentient.)**

 **Fun Fact: It is not easy to write fanfictions over the cat. Or anything over the cat. It's just hard.**

 **Melody: Thank you for the review! I definitely plan to write more of Natasha, and I'm trying to grow Sophie over time; when I started writing I had a problem with everything about the character dumped into the first few pages, and I'm trying to cut back. Thanks for the warning about feistiness, I'll keep an eye on that!**

 **fezwearingjellybananas: Is it weird that I hear that announcer guy from Portal 2 in my head? Like, _Warning. Ego has reached unsustainable levels of inflation. Deploying countermeasures._ (BTW, your username made me snort water up my nose. I'd ask what the story behind that is, but the one that popped into my head is a hard one to beat :P)**

 **And now, the fic:**

* * *

I really hate to say this, but… Barton's house? It's nice.

It's not _niiiiice_ , like the house from last night, with metal and wood from every corner of the earth thrown around just to show that the owner can afford to throw around metal and wood from every corner of the earth. But I've never liked those houses much anyways, except for the amount of really expensive stuff they could hold. This house... I'm not quite sure how to describe it. Maybe... what did that woman in the library say... something about her new apartment, to her friend-I wasn't eavesdropping, I don't eavesdrop, no matter what Barton says- _homey_. That's the word I was looking for. Homey.

Then I see the name _BARTON_ on the mailbox and the door, and all illusions of homey-ness disappear in an instant.

"DAAAAAAA-DDDDDDYYYYYYYYYY!" A little pink blur nearly bowls me over, and I leap backwards, ramming hard into the car.

I don't know exactly _what_ I did to my ribs last night, but my guess is, it's not good.

Barton takes hold of the blur and swings it up into his arms. A little girl. A little girl in a pink shirt. He kisses her and, once again, his eyes aren't angry.

"Hey, sweetheart!"

"Coop and me are in the treehouse," she tells him, then pinches his nose and giggles. She looks at me. "Are you the homest girl?"

"I-what?"

"Home-homes-hom-home-" She sighs and looks at Barton. "Daddy?"

"Home _less_? Is that what you're trying to say?"

"Yeah! That!" She points at me. "Are you?"

"I-I-" Funny. That isn't a word that I use very often. I _do_ have a home, on the third floor of an abandoned building in NYC. Yeah, I don't own it, like most things of mine, but it still is my home, right?

"Yeah, kiddo. This is her. Did your mommy tell you about her?"

"Yessss!" she says, drawing out the 's'. "Let's go tell Mommy you're here! She wants to have you here so much that when Daddy called about you she started shouting!" She squirms out of Barton's arms and starts running to the house. Barton, not even glancing at me, motions me towards it too, and I follow him. Before heading in, I notice a boy, twelve or thirteen, maybe, running towards the house.

Holy _crap_ , he looks like-

"Kid? You coming in?"

I _am._ I _am_ coming in, at least I'm trying, but my legs literally aren't responding.

"Kid?"

 _Where'd the house go? Why am I in..._

 _New York..._

 _"Soph? Soph, look at this puppy! Look at this puppy, Soph!"_

 _That's a nice puppy, it really is._

"KID?"

 _Rory, laughing. The way his face lights up is beautiful, beautiful like the highway at night is beautiful. "Look, Sophs, it's friendly! Can we keep it?"_

 _Yes, Rory. We can keep it._

 _"Hey! Hey, puppy, come back!"_

"KID!"

Barton grabs my shoulder and hauls me into the house, and Rory and puppy and New York are all gone.

"What was THAT all about, kid?"

I try to say something, but I choke on it and all that comes out is a cough. Barton doesn't look like he'll let me get off with just a cough, but pretty soon he has to, because someone else comes into the room. Two someones, actually. A woman, carrying a baby.

"Hi, honey," she says, kissing Barton's cheek.

"Hey, honey." The baby coos and his attention swivels to the baby. "Hi, Nate!" He pulls a face and this tiny, toothless smile breaks out on the face of the baby. The woman, meanwhile, looks up at me. "Hello."

"Hi."

"I'm Laura."

"Sophie." We shake hands.

"This is baby Nathaniel, this is Lila, and," the boy who looks way too much like Rory comes in, "that's Cooper."

"Hi," Cooper says disinterestedly.

He even _sounds_ like Rory...

"I fixed up the room in the attic for you." Barton's head snaps up from the baby.

"Honey, I..."

"Clint."

"The attic room is for long term guests, Laura."

"I hope you heard what you just said... Excuse us a moment." Barton and Laura leave the room. Lila looks at me.

"Does Daddy not like you?"

"Not a bit."

She frowns. "I think you're nice. Your hair is pretty."

Take that, Barton.

"Thanks, Lila."

She keeps looking at me, but doesn't say anything else, so we just stand there silently until Barton and Laura come back in.

"As I was saying, Sophie, we fixed up the attic room for you. Lila, can you take her to go see it?"

"Yes, Mama!" Lila grabs my hand-I jump, it's not like I sit around _expecting_ someone to randomly grab my hand-and half-drags me out the room, through the kitchen, down a hallway, up stairs, and into an empty bedroom.

"Uh... this isn't an att-HOLY-" I duck as Lila swings a broomstick above my head, then roll away and grab it, pulling it out of her hands, as she comes down for another swing.

"Aww! I almost had it!"

No crap you almost had it! Does Barton _actually_ want me dead?

Then I realize that she's not looking at me, but at the ceiling above me. There's a golden ring coming out of the ceiling above me, and a piece of rope on the ground. Luckily, I'm taller than Lila, and I can reach up and grab the ring. I pull it, and it swings down, letting a folding ladder come fall out of the ceiling. I start to climb it.

"No! I go first!"

Ok, then, Lila goes first. I follow her up.

"Look!"

Nicer than the third story of a wrecked and abandoned building, that's for sure. Not that I'm knocking my home. I like my home, even if it is drafty in the winter and buggy in the summer and smells a bit. It's just that this place has four walls and a roof, and a bed, not just a coil of blankets, and a window, with curtains-real ones, not the moth-eaten ones still tacked to the remaining wall-and, oh my, it actually has a shower in a room next to it! Showers are nice; they have them at the homeless shelter and it's incredible how much better hot water makes me feel.

Hmm. Maybe I should take a shower tonight to take care of the-

"Do you like it?" Lila asks, swinging her arms in a circle around her and thwacking me in the chest. Fireworks go off in front of my eyes and I buckle over, eyes watering.

-rib problem.

"Yeah, Lila," I gasp out. "I like it."

* * *

Dinner.

Might have been fine if I hadn't been completely late and none other then Barton himself came to my- _the_ attic room and yelled for me to get my sorry butt to dinner. As we both sit down at the table, I can still feel his glare on me.

Thinking back on the New York whatever with those goons from space, I can't help but wonder what happened. Then, the scariness of the invasion was almost completely overridden by those new heroes. My building was far enough away from Stark tower that I could see the aliens without being in danger, but, me being me, I had jumped from building to building until I was right near the heart of the action. That was when it got scary, but the heroes-the Avengers-you could tell that they had things under control. And this guy glaring at me from across the table was my favorite of the lot-this being about when I started to realize that my aim was pretty good, that I could throw something at a squirrel, say, or a leaf, and hit it where I wanted to. So the guy on top of that apartment complex, nailing everything with his bow, really fascinated me.

Who would have guessed? The real Hawkeye is a real jerk.

My musings are blown out of my head when I notice the spaghetti. I'm not hungry like I'm usually hungry-I actually ate this morning, so I still feel pretty good-but the mere sight of the spaghetti makes my mouth start watering. Of course, it _is_ being passed around in a huge bowl, and I'm not exactly good at holding something heavy-which is weird, because I can climb buildings no problem-but I'm sure that I can manage it for a moment.

Laura passes me the spaghetti and I have no trouble getting it on my plate, but when I put the bowl back on the table, I reach too far and it lands with part of the bottom on the edge of Cooper's plate, and the spaghetti starts to slide out of the bowl. I panic and swing it up to flip it back into the bowl, but I overshoot again and-

And-

My face is covered in spaghetti and blocked by the bowl. My chair now has its back flat on the ground. My chest feels like crap again.

Today just isn't my day, is it?

I push the bowl off of my face and wipe the spaghetti sauce out of my eyes before I open them. Everyone who can has jumped out of their seats and are standing around my chair. Lila is laughing, Cooper is laughing, even the baby is laughing. Laura wets down a washcloth and hands it to me, and I wipe down the rest of my face.

Barton, though. Barton.

If there was anything to do to make him hate me more...

Well, I could try to grab my iPod-I can see its outline in his pocket and if I made a dive for him I could have him down and have that iPod out of his pocket in an instant, or at least, that's what my brain is telling me. My wrists still aren't ready to go through with it. So instead I just look up in his eyes and return his glare. I can see myself reflecting in his pupils. My eyes in his eyes in my eyes in his eyes in my eyes in his eyes in my eyes...

I hope he knows that I will never forgive him for taking my iPod.

"At least you were the last one served," he grumbles as we all sit back down at the table. My eyes in his eyes in my eyes in his eyes...

* * *

Incredible how a little hot water can make my chest feel so much better.

The mere sight of it made me moan. A deep purple flower blossoming from the bottom of my rib cage and running almost completely around my chest, fading to a light green just below my breasts and near my belly button.

What's with the whole 'water is hard' thing? No one ever told _me_ that water was hard. Water is supposed to be smooth and soft and mostly harmless, unless you decide to be a mermaid and breathe it, and that is all I will say about that.

I get out of the shower and towel off before pulling my clothes back on. My shirt is still pretty wet from when I stuck it in the sink-had to get the spaghetti sauce out of it somehow-but my pants are fine and I no longer smell like nine o'clock at the Italian restaurant. I shut off the lights, turn them back on, shut them off, turn them on, off, on, off, on. Laura actually had to come up to my room and show me how to turn on the lights, it's been so long since I've used them. And yes, contrary to Barton's opinion, I did know how to work light switches, back when my mom and I still had the house, before her boyfriend gave her that powder that she inhaled, before she lost her job and the landlord threw us out and she started seeing all those men at night and leaving me alone.

To think that I thought that she had abandoned me until I saw her picture in that newspaper, of her in that bed with the sheets all red around her.

I shut off the lights with a little groan and fall into my own bed-no, not my own bed, this is Barton's bed and Barton's room and Barton's house and I don't want anything that was his originally. I pull the covers up around me and bring my knees up to my chest. Yeah, this is more comfortable than the previously mentioned half-built abandoned building-but that was Rory's building too. And now I'm alone.

* * *

I only wake up once in the night, feet still buzzing from slapping against the payment.

Penance. Every night. Every second. Reliving it.

Penance.

* * *

 **I was at an Awana conference today with my friends, and one of them showed me that video of Jeremy Renner on that talk show, where he played the piano and sang that parody about Hawkeye's 'powers'. Thought I was going to die! Although I seriously hope that he did that before AoU, because that comment about virginity completely defies biology...**

 **Anywhoo... Yay! Second chapter! Hope you enjoyed! (Please review!)**


	3. Archery and Dentistry

**Hi again!**

 **QueenOfHEL666: Yeah, it's _awesome_! Although if that happened after AoU... yeah, I'm gonna shut up now. I'm glad that you like the story! Hopefully this one lives up to the expectations. (And I notice that you are a fellow lover of Norse mythology. Isn't it great?)**

 **fezwearingjellybananas: Ah, yes, there is a fez wearing Doctor, isn't there? I'll bet there still is a great story behind it. The name, that is. I know that Doctor Who is awesome from the small clips of it that I've seen. As for my story, well, it involved a huuuuuge dessert malfunction in Russia. Enough said there.**

 **I have names for the chapters now! Good? Meh? Lousy? Let me know, I love that little review box!**

 **Disclaimer: I know nothing about archery (trying to find lessons), so if the archery lesson is totally out of whack, please don't wallop me over the head. I do that enough myself. ;)**

* * *

Considering that all of my other experiences with department stores involve bright lights and sirens, Laura's mission to get me some new clothes didn't do so badly. In fact, if I could ignore the fact that there is a broken watch in this plastic bag, I could say that it went _perfectly_. But that's one loud broken watch, so...

Meh. Story of my life.

The one thing I really didn't understand was the necessity of having more than one shirt, pair of pants, et cetera. Ok, two each might make sense, one for warm weather and one for cold, but I have no fewer than three outfits in this bag. Three!

Three!

I take off my old clothes and put on one of my new sets of clothing. Black shirt and dark jeans, like my old stuff. Black sneakers, too. Shoes cannot be 'sneakers' and bright pink at the same time. It defies the definition of sneak.

I look at my old clothes and suddenly feel weird. Yesterday, if I'd been standing and looking at my clothes, I would have necessarily been naked.

* * *

Who colored the first target? The colors make no sense. It's like they shut their eyes and randomly pointed to colors, and made each ring whatever color they pointed at.

"Are you even _listening_ to me?" I jump and nod. Barton tones down the death glare to the regular, steely-but-not-quite-murderous glare that he probably stayed up all night perfecting. I return it.

Look away. Look away. Look away.

I look away, across at the bows hanging up on a rack.

"Now, like I was saying, I want to figure out your draw strength. You should probably start sma-"

I walk over to the rack, pick up the bow on the right, and walk back to where I had been standing, in front of the target. Barton sighs, pinching himself between his eyes.

I reach carefully, carefully into his pocket.

Crap. I know he still has it on him, it must be on his other side. I slowly ease my hand back out, and cough. He looks up. "Fine. Let's see you pull that back."

No problem, old man. Bowstrings are easy. I have some of these things in my home, made them myself to shoot squirrels and leaves and whatnot. There's nothing behind pulling bowstrings. Ok, maybe a bit of something, but it can't be all that hard.

I grasp the bowstring and pull it, and for a moment it feels like pulling a brick building. I can't-

No. I will _not_ admit defeat in front of Barton of all people. If he has this bow, he can pull it, and so will I. I lock my right arm straight and pull back on the bowstring with my left. My left arm starts to shake, but I feel it moving backwards, so I keep pulling.

"Ok, kid, that's enough, that is way too much draw weight for you." I hear a note of panic in his voice. "Now, ease the bowstring back, and remember, the worst thing you can do to an empty bow is-"

The bowstring slips out of my trembling fingers and I feel a sear as it cuts along my palm. I hear a snap, shut my eyes, and feel something strike me hard across the face. After my face is done stinging, I open my eyes.

There's blood running down my palm and my face in two fiery streaks, and the bowstring is dangling in two pieces. Barton's eyes are shut and his mouth is pressed so hard that I cannot see his lips.

"Give me the bow." I slap it into his hand before taking a look at my palm. There's a swath of skin missing, and there's blood welling up from it, like that time I'd tripped while running and skidded along the pavement. I can feel blood trickling across my lips and down my chin, too, but it's a different kind of pain-a slice rather than a throb.

Give me the spaghetti any day.

"You. Broke. My bow." Barton's eyes are open again and he's staring at the broken bowstring with a mix of horror and fury. Don't care. His bow, his problem. Just stick a new string on it and it's fine, right?

"Nat got me this as a birthday present." Oh, crap, really? Barton being mad I can stand, but what if Natasha hates me after this?

Barton hands me a bandage,-was he _waiting_ for me to hurt myself?-turns around, and starts to walk towards the farmhouse, bow in hand. Aha! The opportunity I've been waiting for! I walk alongside him, reaching my hand into his pocket and transferring the contents to my own. It brings me a certain satisfaction to see him keep walking towards his house without even a glance towards or a patting of his pocket. Instead, he carefully lays the bow down on the farmhouse porch with a muttered 'I'll take a look at it in a minute' and we walk back towards the target.

" _I'll_ choose a bow for you this time," he says, and spends several minutes glancing between me and the bows, occasionally taking one off of the rack and pulling it back before placing it down again. Finally, he chooses one and hands it to me. "I think this one is the right draw strength. And please, actually load an arrow this time."

I pull the bowstring back easily. Give me a break. I've been hauling myself up buildings routinely for the last three years, does he think I'm a weakling?

I fire the bow and hit the ring just outside the center of the target, but the arrow bounces off. Evidently Barton does think that I'm a weakling, because his eyes are wide as he takes the bow out of my hands. Soon he's back to looking at me, the bows, me, the bows, pulling one, putting it back down, repeat. He takes another bow and passes it to me, but this time I can barely pull the bowstring back. The arrow I fire off ends up hitting a rock with a horrible _crack_ and Barton and I both leap into the air. Once again, the bow is taken out of my hands and deliberation begins again.

"Try this one." He shoves another bow into my hands and the first thing I notice is how well the grip fits into my hand. I fit an arrow to the string and pull back, the draw weight just hard enough for me to feel the tension without turning my arm to jelly.

I _like_ this one.

I aim and fire, and the arrow hits the line between the center and the ring outside it. Maybe, just maybe, a bit closer to the center. I glance over at Barton, but his eyes are unreadable.

"Looks like we found you a bow, kid," he says quietly.

* * *

Yesterday, I probably would have guessed that Laura was okay, maybe not happy after that issue with the spaghetti, but certainly okay with me. Today, I have good reason to think that she despises me just as much as her husb-OH CRAP!

"This is just to test your gums. It isn't going to hurt."

Are you flipping kidding me? It's a sharp. Pokey. Metal. Object. Get it _away_ from me!

Ow!

OW!

 _OW!_

Several sharp pains my mouth later, the dentist leaves and I can hear her talking to Laura.

"Cavities...Some need to go...Can do it now..."

A different woman comes back inside with some sort of face mask attached to a tube.

"Ok, I'm going to put this over your-"

 _No_.

I whack the mask out of her hand and pivot out of the chair.

The door is shut! And locked! What kind of a freak locks someone in a room with a woman carrying that-that _thing_?

"Listen, Sophia, this isn't going to hurt you either. It's so that we don't hurt you while we're getting rid of your cavities."

Oh. Is that all that is?

"My name isn't Sophia," I say as I creep back to the chair.

"That's what your guardian put on your forms."

What guardian? What forms?

Then that woman _actually puts that mask on me_ and I forget about everything but trying to get it off.

"It's alright. Like I said, it isn't going to hurt you. Just breathe, ok?"

I breathe in and out several times and my head gets fuzzy. The woman takes it off and leaves, coming back with the first woman. They prop open my mouth and the dentist takes this metal-this pokey metal-this _very_ pokey metal drill and _puts it in my mouth_!

"It's fine. After the laughing gas you won't feel a thing."

Do you mean the fuzzy feeling I got in my head? Because I am totally fine now. No longer fuzzy headed and-

 _AGH!_

At my frenzied punching of the dentist's arms she takes the drill out of my mouth.

"Are you all right? Do you want me to get your mom?"

My mom is _dead_ , stupid!

My mom is dead...

The other woman, not the dentist, frowns down at me. "I gave her the required dose, I can't understand why she's panicking."

Maybe because I could _feel_ you boring holes in my mouth with that freakin' drill!

The dentist puts the drill back in my mouth and-

 _AAAAAAAAAAGH!_

Out of my mouth. Again.

"What's the matter?"

"I CAN FEEL THAT! IT HURTS, YA-"

The dentist's head snaps up to the other woman.

"Where did you get the laughing gas?"

"In that-"

" _Show me._ "

The two women leave and come back several minutes later. The dentist looks ready to scream and the other woman looks like she's about to burst into tears.

"Ok, Sophie, I'm really sorry about this, but we have to finish drilling this one cavity. After that we'll have to send you home for a while."

As it happens, I'm not three, but I let her talk down to me anyways. Always let the person with the wickedly sharp drill talk to you _however they like_.

I hold on tight to the armrests and the dentist turns the drill back-

 _AGH!_

* * *

The next afternoon, Laura helps me drag myself into the car, my mouth full of metal and fillings and my head feeling like it's floating.

Laughing gas is _not_ funny.

Still, I think I prefer it to nothing at all.

* * *

 **Well, there's the third chapter!** **Hope you all enjoyed!**

 **And the whole lack-of-anesthetic-while-having-a-cavity-drilled actually has happened to me, sort of. My dentist and I found out the hard way that I do not respond properly to local anesthetic. Guess I get it from my dad. When I had to have more drilled, they pumped me so full of the stuff that I only felt a bit of a twinge, but it took hours for me to feel my face again. I don't think I'm going to give them a third go.**

 **My previously-mentioned friends from AWANA spent part of that conference entirely confusing me about Spiderman. Thought he got his powers by being bitten by a radioactive spider, but then they started messing with my brain about 'Oh, he built this, no, he just can do it', so I've placed every single Spiderman movie on hold at the library. Of course, they have all of them but the first one. *sigh***

 **Read! Review! Repeat!**


	4. Learning

**I'm baaaa-aack!**

 **Sorry about the hiatus, I just had a Spiderman movie marathon that lasted three days, during which I got perhaps 12 hours of sleep. For. The. Entire. Weekend. (My friend was in the top bunk and she was humming the Spiderman song in her sleep.) On the plus side, I have now seen all of the Spiderman movies and rewatched a few Avengersverse ones too. Amazing Spiderman 2 might have overtaken Winter Soldier as my favorite movie. Wow...**

 **Ok. Fic. Here's a nice long one for y'all being patient with me. (Be glad, actually. The stuff I write after too much screen time and not enough sleep... Yikes.)**

* * *

 _"She was a very nice woman, wasn't she?"_

 _Yes, Rory. Yes, she was. Always made sure that we had enough soup._

 _"I don't suppose the funeral people will let us go. Still, I think I'm going to try. Will you come with me, Sophs?"_

 _What kind of person do you think I am? Of course I'll go._

 _"Come on, pick your head up. I miss you when I can't see your face. I'm scared you'll look up and be somebody else."_

 _Why does everyone have to go?_

 _"_ I'll _never go, Soph, if you never go either."_

 _I'll never leave you, Rory._

 _"I love you, Sophs."_

 _I love you too, Rory._

 _I bring my head up from my knees and look at him. He's been crying, like me, but the tears just make his liquid brown eyes even more beautiful. I could look at him and those eyes forever, I know it._

 _Then I blink, and he disappears behind a spreading wall of red._

"NO, RORY, NO!" I feel my fingernails biting into something soft.

"Sophie?"

"RORY! RORY!"

"Sophie, kiddo, I don't know what's wrong, but you need to wake up, it's just a dream."

"NO! RORY!"

"What is that racket?"

"Sophie's having a nightmare, Clint, I can't wake her up."

"Rory... Rory..."

Someone shakes my arm. I find the hand grasping me and punch at it, trying to make it let me go.

"Kid?"

"LET GO! LET GO!"

"WAKE UP!"

The shout jolts me awake, and I see that the lights in my room are all on, and that Barton is still shaking my arm. I blink a couple times, chest heaving.

"Wh-where'd Rory..."

"You were having a nightmare, kid. It wasn't real."

What a liar. How can he not know? Didn't he feel it when the world ended?

Laura tells me that I need to get up, and the two climb down from the attic. And that's when I realize that my iPod is gone from the table beside my bed.

Today's certain to be wonderful. Just _stellar._

* * *

My mother never sent me to school-said that she didn't want me separated from her, at least in the daytime. Rory told me that it was useless, and he was smart-taught me to read and write a bit, and a few numbers, though I wasn't too good with them. So, basically, I've never been to school. And it's not like I've done so badly without it.

Why, exactly, is it necessary to go _now_?

It's not like anyone wants me here, except the Bartons. The teacher has been going on for about fifteen minutes and no one's even looked my wa-

Fly!

It buzzes around me and I wave my hand at it, trying to slap it out of the air. No such luck; it lands on my nose. I flick it off quickly, but-

Ah-

 _Ah_ -

 _AH_ -

"CHOO!"

The effect on the teacher is incredible. She was writing on some sort of white board with a marker, and she fumbles it out of her hands, spins around to face me.

Should I tell her that there is now a purple mark on her shoe?

The other people in the classroom, people my age, start chatting almost as soon as the teacher stops writing. The teacher tells them to shush, which does nothing except make then louder, before coming over to me. Her arms fold across her chest and she stares at me. I'm not sure what to do, so I stare back.

"Well?"

"I-uh...Well?"

"What are you doing here?"

Oh! Oh! I know what I'm supposed to do, I have a piece of paper from the boss here and everything!

"I'm, uh, I'm a new student." I hold the piece of paper out to her, but she barely glances at it.

"No one told me that I would have a new student."

"I-uh, I think, um, I think I'm supposed to be here."

"Well, then, perhaps you should take a seat." I walk into the room, find an empty seat, and sit down.

Why is everyone staring at me? Stop staring at me!

"Now then, perhaps we can continue. Can I have your name, Miss..?"

Why is the girl next to me glaring at me like I'm going to make her sick? For once in my life my everything is clean!

"Miss!"

The girl scoots away further until she's practically sitting in her neighbor's lap.

This. Is. Ridiculous. I am not a virus.

"MISS."

I look up to see that the teacher is glaring down at me.

"Yes?"

"What. Is. Your. Name?" She spits out each word, pinching off her voice at the end.

"Sophie."

"Sophie _what_?"

"Uh... I don't know?"

The girl next to me bursts into laughter, followed by the rest of the class.

I don't know is a perfectly acceptable answer!

"You. Don't. Know."

"Uh, yeah. I don't know."

"How do you _not_ know your own last name, pray tell?"

"Mom never told me."

The laughter rises in volume.

"Then perhaps you should ask your father."

"Never met him."

The girl who had been creeping away from me practically falls across me in laughter. The teacher, however, just sighs.

"Then what is your guardian's last name?"

Uh...

Guardian. What is it with that word? I don't have a guardian! I think I do just fine protecting myself, thank you very much!

The dentist used this word the other day. Does that have something to do with it?

 _I need to go talk to your guardian._

And then she left and she-she went and talked to Laura! So Laura is my guardian! And Laura's last name is-

"Barton!"

For some reason, that makes everybody laugh much, _much_ louder. The teacher even lets out a chuckle or two.

"Well then, Miss _Barton_ , perhaps you can quiet down and we can get back to work."

Has she somehow failed to notice that I am the _only_ person being quiet?

* * *

At midday we break for lunch.

I haven't had three meals a day since I was six and my mom started taking the powder.

I could get used to this!

I take a tray and sit in a corner, my back and side to the wall, in case anyone intends to try to steal it. I don't think anyone will, since everyone has a tray, but-

I leap out of my chair and stare down the girl approaching.

"Can I sit here?" she asks, brow furrowing.

Oh.

"Yeah, sure." We both sit down and I attack the stuff on my tray. Not sure what it is, but it's good.

"Hey, I'm sorry about what happened earlier today."

"Hmm?" I mumble through whatever's in my mouth.

"In math class."

Oh, yeah. It was math, wasn't it? That was a nightmare, I'm crap with numbers and once that x thing showed up I was done.

"I shouldn't have laughed, really, it wasn't that funny. I mean, of course when you said Barton I thought you were saying, like, _Barton_ Barton, but Barton isn't that weird of a last name, we should have laughed at it."

"It's fine," I say, swallowing painfully. "I wish it wasn't Barton too."

"That must be weird, saying your last name and everyone thinking your dad is famous."

"It's not my last name, and Clint Barton is _not_ my father."

The girl's blue eyes are already huge, but they widen even more when I say 'Clint Barton'. "You actually mean _Barton_?"

"Yeah."

"Like, as in _Barton_ Barton?"

"Yeah."

She almost squeals. "That is _so cool_! That guy is one of the most incredible people on the pla-"

"Oh, please," I snort.

"But he's an _Avenger_!"

"That doesn't make him God Almighty."

"What's the matter?"

"He is a jerk. He is a complete and utter jerk."

"But... An _Avenger_."

"Still a jerk."

She looks incredulous. Time to change the subject.

I nod over at the girl who had been trying to escape me during math class. She's now surrounded by a group of kids and talking. "What's with her?"

"Kendra?" The girl across from me glances over at her. "Rich kid, likes attention, gets attention. The usual crap, you know what I mean?"

"Rich kid?"

"Yeah, her dad's some business magnate. She used to go to a super fancy private school but got caught with drugs, so now her darling daddy's sending her to school with the unwashed masses." She snorts. "I probably shouldn't talk about her like that, but-"

"You don't care?" I guessed.

"Not a bit."

Rich kid, huh? I wonder...

A bell goes off, and I cringe, shrinking into my corner.

"What's wrong? It's just the end of lunch bell."

"Oh." Doesn't _sound_ like a lunch bell. Then again, I've never heard a lunch bell, so maybe it does.

"I'm Sophie," I say, sticking out my hand.

"Alicia," she says, and we shake.

* * *

After lunch, I end up just following Alicia to her classes. I know that I have a schedule of classes for myself, but I don't read all _that_ well, and I can't make sense of the map either.

The second class after lunch is in the same room as that math class, and as soon as everyone is inside, a man with glasses starts talking about information stored on the internet. Clearly, he had been talking about this at some point before now, because within five minutes he tells us to get on the computers and 'complete yesterday's assignment'. Alicia grabs my hand.

"You don't know the password, do you?"

I shake my head.

"Okay, I'll help you." We sit in two chairs next to each other. Her screen flashes on.

Um... Okay... Computer! Turn on!

How do I turn this thing on? I randomly press buttons on a white piece of metal near my hands.

"Uh, Sophie?"

I look up at Alicia.

"Why are you trying to type? Your computer isn't on."

"I'm trying to turn it on!" She reaches over me and presses a button that's actually on the computer.

"Ok. _Now_ you can type. The password is," she laughs, "artishot27."

"WHAT?"

"Shh!" She glances over at the teacher. "First day of school, we played a game and he lost, so we made the password for the class computers."

I don't follow, but ok. So...

Uh...

I get in the artishot part after a while, but the numbers completely throw me. This is embarrassing.

"Alicia?"

"Hmm?"

"Can you write the password down for me?"

"Forgotten it already? It's-"

"Just write it down, please!"

She raises an eyebrow, but scribbles it down on a piece of paper and hands it to me.

Ok. 2 is... there, and 7 is... there.

I click the green button-at least this slidey thing is straightforward- and the screen changes.

"Now what?"

Alicia looks at me funny before moving the slidey thing and clicking. A white screen comes up, and she presses more buttons on the board. One more click, and yet another new screen comes up. "Now look up your name."

Uh... Is that supposed to help me any? Oh! Hey! The button board has letters on it!

 _s... o... p... h... i... e_

I click a blue button next to the place where I put my name.

Wow. That is a _lot_ of Sophies.

 _s... o... p... h... i... e... ... b... a... r... t... o... n_

I get only one Sophie for that. Ok. Time to read it.

Haven't done this in forever.

 _Sophie ?_

 _Gu-ga-gard-guard-oh, Guardians: Laura and Clint Barton_

Beneath it there's a blue button that says _View Record_.

"Now, you all should have a screen with your name and a button to see your criminal record. I would _hope_ that you all have grey buttons, of course," the teacher says, earning a laugh from most of the kids in the class. I don't get the joke. My button is blue!

I click the blue button, and the screen turns white before-

Oh, _crap_.

They're all here. Every single one of them.

"Hey, Sophie, what're you looking at?"

Agh! Don't look, Alicia, don't look!

I press the button with the x on it, and the screen with my record goes out.

"Nothing," I say, and her response is cut off by the ringing of the bell.

* * *

What have I done?

I rest my head against the window, hearing the people behind me whispering.

"...'ndra be okay?"

"...'an't believe what happened..."

"...all that blood..."

Blood. Blood. Blood.

 _"RORY! RORY, WATCH OUT!"_

 _The light in his eyes. In those beautiful eyes. Gone. Gone._

I'm just working myself up. Kendra isn't dead, just unconscious, I didn't kill her...

Calm _down,_ Sophie, calm _DOWN_.

"Your stop, kid."

I feel someone tapping my shoulder and I clench my hands into fists to stop them from shaking.

I will not have a panic attack on this bus. I will _NOT._

I notice someone glaring at me and try to smile. They only scoot closer away.

"Get away from me, you _freak_."

I jump down off the bus and my knees nearly buckle beneath me. I stagger towards the farmhouse.

Door. Door. Locked. Crap. I beat against it with my fist.

"Kid?"

"Barton," I mumble out, and the world goes suddenly black.

* * *

I wake up in m-the attic room.

Oh, hey! The sun hasn't gone out after all! Hello, sun. Good to see ya.

Then I glance over in a corner, and I see dark hair and a scrawny form-

"Rory?"

He glances up. Oh.

"My name's Cooper, remember?" He goes back to the computer that he's playing with. "This is super cool. _My_ school never gave me a computer."

Oh, yeah. I remember. They gave me that backpack at the start of the day. "You can have it."

He laughs, eyes still glued to the screen. "Yeah, right. Don't you need this for school?"

"I don't know."

"Why'd you pass out on Dad?"

Was that what happened? All I remember is him opening the door.

"Uh-bad memories."

"Is that why you kept yelling?"

"What?"

"Only sometimes. Mostly you were just whispering. But a couple times you yelled."

"Wh-what did I say?"

"Mostly just 'Watch out' and 'No'. A couple times you said 'Rory'. Who is he, anyways?"

My stomach turns. "J-just a friend of mine."

"Is that why you keep calling me Rory?"

"Guess so." I squeeze my eyes shut.

"Dad wants you downstairs."

"Ok."

"Do you know how to use this computer?" he asks, finally looking up from it.

"I'll figure it out."

"I can show you, if you want."

"N-" Actually, that's not such a bad idea. I can't use the thing and I might as well learn. "Yeah, sounds good."

"Okay." He looks back at the screen and I start to leave.

"Don't forget your bow!"

It's on my-my wall?

What's it doing there?

I take it down and scramble down the ladder from the attic.

* * *

"What are these?" I take one of the arrows out of the quiver I'm holding. The tip is dull and faint lines split it into three sections.

"Don't touch-"

I place my finger against the tip of the arrow. It opens and clamps down on my finger before-

AGH!

Barton pulls the arrow off of my finger, and I rub my sore arm.

"That," he snaps, "is an electrical arrow. It sends an electrical pulse into anything it touches. And they're what you'll be using for the time being."

I move to put the quiver down, but he stops me. "First things first. You're going to have to get used to having this on your back. That strap goes over your head."

"I've seen a book bag before, Barton."

"Don't get mouthy with me," he barks. "Ok, let's see if you can hit the target."

I look at the target. The _cloth_ target.

"Won't it catch on fire?"

"How do you-you know what, I'm not going to ask. Stark says they won't set anything on fire, and I've never had them set anything on fire, so let's assume that nothing _is_ going to catch on fire."

Ok. I reach behind me and grab an arrow without much trouble, but as soon as I nock it and pull back on the bowstring, I remember the cut on my hand. I ease the bowstring back to a resting position and look down at my hand. The cut has scabbed over, but putting pressure on it stings.

"Something wrong with your hand?"

"I'm _fine_ ," I growl, and draw the bow again. I fire and hit the farthest ring of the target. This target is a lot farther away that last time, maybe forty steps away, rather than twenty like last time.

"Not that bad, kid, but you'd do better if you put one foot back to brace yourself."

I move one foot back and fire again, hitting near where I hit earlier.

"Here, like this." Barton walks over to me and puts his hands on my shoulders. "Turn your body so that you're facing the bow." I turn. "You're lef-wait, you are left handed, right?"

"I don't know."

"Which hand do you want to draw the bowstring with?"

"This one," I say, holding up one of my hands.

"Good, you are left handed. I probably should have asked you that the other day. So, take the bow in your right hand-there, you got it-and turn your left foot-this one," he taps one of my feet with one of his, "little bit farther, little bit farther- _now_ try."

I take another arrow from my back, nock, draw, and fire. This time I hit nearer to the center. It's not as good as I did last time, but these are extremely weird arrows.

Barton steps back. "Try pulling back a bit more."

I do, and this arrow shoots way over the target and lands somewhere in the the trees.

"Nope, see, you have to stand the way I told you."

I move around a bit and fire again, and the arrow bounces off of the side of the target.

"You still haven't gotten back to the way I showed you."

"What's even the point of that? It's not like it's going to help me any." I nock another arrow and pull back, but before I can let go, my feet fly out from under me and I land on my butt, shooting myself in the leg.

YEOWCH!

I yank the arrow off of my leg and glare up at Barton, who's standing behind me.

"That's the point of it. You're easy to take down." He offers me his hand. Nope, not falling for it. I clamber to my feet myself.

"Now, remember. _Brace yourself_." I put one foot behind me and twist it slightly, like Barton told me, and nock another arrow. Before I can fire, though, I see movement out of the corner of my eye and, on instinct, remove the arrow from the bowstring and stab to the side. Someone cries out, and I turn around to see Barton pulling one of the arrows off of his side.

"Stark isn't kidding," he pants, "when he says... those are... painful."

Oh boy. Here comes the storm.

Then, all of a sudden, Barton starts to laugh-a loud, side-splitting laugh, one that reminds me of better times, the days when my mother wasn't taking the powder, the days when Rory came and we were happy and for once in my life I had a _friend..._

"Not so bad, kid," Barton says when he's stopped laughing, and for a moment, just a moment, he smiles. At me. It's a small smile, but it's a smile anywa-

"Clint!" Laura's standing on the porch, holding a phone. "It's the school, they want to talk to you."

"One sec, honey!" he calls back. "See if you can find your arrows, kid. I'll be right back."

I watch him walking back to the house. If it wasn't for the iPod...

This isn't so bad.

* * *

"You _broke_ a kid's nose." Barton's eyes are back to the usual thunder-and-lightning.

"I-I-"

"Is _that_ why you passed out earlier?"

I clench my eyes shut and shake my head.

I'm not going down again.

 _Red. Red. Blood._

NO! I'm _not_ passing out again, I'm _not_!

"Look. At. Me."

I open my eyes again and glare at him.

"Don't give me that look. You _broke_ a girl's nose."

"I know."

"Don't you have anything to say for yourself?"

"I'm not sorry. And she deserves it."

That just came out of my mouth?

I am sorry. I _am,_ but I'm not sorry for him.

"Get out."

"Clint?" Laura walks up to him and takes his hand.

"You heard me, kid. Get out of my house. _Now!_ "

"Wait, Sophie-"

I don't care. I don't care. I turn and I run out of the door.

* * *

I planned to be halfway to NYC by now, but instead I'm spending the night on the Bartons' roof.

It wasn't intentional. I didn't really intend to be on the roof, but these things kind of happen. And I needed to be up in the air, needed to be able to see and hear and think and breathe.

Also, I'm right above Barton's and Laura's room, and I'll admit that if they talk, I want to know what they talk about.

I hear someone thumping around (luckily, they have a window open), and I lean my head over the overhang to see if I can see anything. Laura's in her pajamas reading, and Barton is-jeez, shirtless. I've heard that guys sleep shirtless, of course, but Rory didn't, so...

"I thought you were going to go look for her," Laura says, looking up from her book.

"I did. I think she's on the roof."

So much for secrecy.

"Shouldn't we get her back inside?"

"Nope." Laura glares at him. "Kid can sleep wherever she wants to sleep. Don't care."

"You seemed happy teaching her earlier."

"Well, I didn't know she broke some girl's nose at school. Forgive me if that changes my view of the nose-breaker."

"Do you know why?"

"She wouldn't say anything. Principal said that the other girl was calling her names. It wasn't right, but to break that girl's _nose_ for it..."

"You need to go find her."

"What if Cooper said something that got her mad, huh? What about Lila? What then?"

"Clint." Laura takes one of his hands in hers, rubbing it slightly. "Clint, I love you, but you see the bad in people so easily."

"It's why I'm alive." He kisses her cheek.

"She's not an evil person."

"It's not my job to be a therapist, Laura. My job is to be your husband and and our kids' father, not some correctional officer. I told you I'd give it a try, but this, no."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not going to keep that kid in my house anymore, Laura. She's not my job and she's not my responsibility."

"Clint..."

"I've made up my mind. Tomorrow, I'm calling Fury and letting him know that he can have his prodigy back."

* * *

 **Yep, I'm a jerk. The next chapter won't be so long coming, I promise.**

 **Comment responses are down here now!**

 **fezwearingjellybananas: Yeah, something to that effect. Glad you're liking the story!**

 **Winter262: I'm glad you like it! Sorry about the horrendous wait, life has an annoying habit of getting in the way of writing.**

 **lollypops101: Thanks! Hope you liked this chapter too!**

 **Sorry again about the wait, I wrote the above comment several days ago and things just kept coming up. I have the PSAT in a few days, hopefully after that things will quiet down a bit.**

 **-IceFyre**

 **1/15/17 EDIT: Being the meticulous, been-writing-fan-fictions-since-eight-years-old girl I am, I referred to Clint Barton, alias Hawkeye, as 'her'. Whoops. Anyways, all gender confusion is fixed now. Happy non-gender-confusing reading! ;)**


	5. An Important Announcement

**Ok. It's been too long, and I've been kind of denying it, but pretending like this isn't true isn't fair to everyone who's waiting for an update.**

 **Now, I'm pretty sure by standards, this story is fine. But according to my brain, this story is _fricking garbage and I must edit it before any progress can be made agh_.**

 **Basically, Clint and Laura's interactions at the end of my last chapter sounded off to me, and my brain said, "Girl. That's so OOC, I'm going to kill me." And that turned into my brain saying, "Girl. This story. It's bad. It needs editing. You moron." And then I said, "Piss off, brain," and my brain responded, "Piss off, Icy," and we just kind of ignored each other regarding this story, and, actually most of life in general. But AMC is coming around, and I'm forced to work with my brain once again, and now it's saying, "Ok, girl, let's be rational about this. Let's step back and fix this story up to IceFyre standards." Then I was like, "Brain, are you suggesting we should be _rational_?"**

 **Welp. First time for everything.**

 **This is why I don't talk to my brain much.**

 **So, basically, this story is going to be dropping off the face of fanon for a while. Not that it hadn't before, but now it's an _informed_ dropping. My plan is to completely edit the first four chapters, and then write the rest of the story once my brain is no longer pissed at this story.**

 **So. Yeah.**

 **(And, for the record, I'm not as self-hating as the above seems. I fully recognize that this is probably completely OCD of me. But hey.)**

 **So, farewell for the present! I will write other stories, and I will be back with this one! REPEAT: THIS STORY IS NOT ABANDONED. I just need to get it up to Icy standards, and it'll be back and better than ever. Also hopefully complete, so when I start updating again, it will be regular.**

 **As just publishing author's notes is not permitted by rules, below is what I had written of Chapter 5. Yes, it's incomplete; sorry about that.**

* * *

I wake up with a gasp, sweat soaking through my shirt into the mattress. I ball my hands into fists and realize that they are trembling.

I didn't dream about Rory. I dreamed about breaking Kendra's nose last afternoon. The _pop_ when I twisted my hands, and her cry, and all that _blood_ , but most of all, I dreamed of that feeling in my chest. Of power. Of strength.

I broke her nose, and I _liked_ it.

What's wrong with me?

* * *

The Bartons are arguing in another room-I can hear their voices behind the closed door. I don't know who sounds angrier.

Either way, I think I'll leave them to it.

What's that weird noise in the living room? I jump over the couch and look around. It's coming from some sort of corral.

What?

I look inside, and the baby is looking up at me, with his fist shoved in his mouth.

What the-Who puts their baby in a cage? Since when is that an accepted practice? Aren't babies supposed to...

Funny. I guess I don't know what you're supposed to do with a baby. I've seen people put them in strollers, but there isn't a stroller nearby. Maybe this is just an indoor stroller.

The baby coos at me and smiles. I involuntarily smile back.

Well, at least he doesn't seem unhappy in there.

I turn to walk away, but I barely reach the couch again before I hear an outraged cry. I glance behind me.

The baby now has his face pressed against the cloth wall of the corral and is staring right at me.

"You want me to come back?"

More staring.

"Okay, then." I walk back to the corral, tossing the bag I'm holding behind me. He still won't stop staring at me.

Um.

Not sure what to do now. Maybe I should-no. That corral is just for babies.

The living room, though...

Hmm...

I reach into the corral, pick the baby up, lift him over the wall, and sit him down on the carpet before sitting down myself.

"Hi there."

Does this baby do _anything_ but stare?

Wait...are humans born able to talk?

"Is it just that you can't talk, kiddo?" I ask, sticking out my finger. He grabs it.

ACK!

Not the mouth!

I try to pull my finger away, but this little guy has a death grip on it.

"What's your name again?"

N... N... Nat... Baby Na... Nate!

"Ok, Nate, please don't bite my finger. Actually, let go of my finger."

I pull. No luck.

"Please?"

Now it's turning purple. Fingers are not supposed to be purple.

"Let go."

Maybe if I pry his fingers off with my other hand?

"Let go!"

Ahhh, that's bett-

YOW!

"My hair is not a substitute for my finger, Nate!"

I pull his fingers out of my hair.

"Well, at least my sleeve isn't attached to the rest of me."

"Wait, why are you..."

"Nate, don't chew my sleeve!"

He lets my sleeve out of his mouth and I look at him more closely.

Uh oh.

"Why don't you have teeth?"

Nate coos again and smiles.

"That's not good! You need teeth!"

At which point Nate decides to put his hands inside _my_ mouth, which shuts me up immediately. I pull them out of my mouth and pick him up, just as Laura and Barton are coming back into the room.

"Wh- _put my son down_!"

Ok. Back on the floor you go, Nate. I stand up and glare right back at Barton.

Our glare-off is broken by Laura walking in between us and picking the baby up. She walks over to his crate and puts him back in.

"You two," she says, pointing at me and Barton, "need to figure out how to be in the same room without looking like you're going to strangle each other."

Liar.

"Thought I was leaving."

Barton and Laura _look_ at each other.

"Why am I not surprised..." Barton sighs. "You have your stuff?"

I nod over at the plastic bag.

"Then... you ready to go?"

"I want my iPod."

"'ll take that as a yes. Let's get going."

I grab the bag off of the couch.

* * *

 **Well, that's all I've got. It's certainly not my best writing, but this is now rule compliant.**

 **That's all I've got! And to everyone who's read, reviewed, favorited, or followed this story, thanks for being patient with me!**

 **I'll be back!**

 **(And yes, in real life, the chubby blond American girl did just try to say that in Arnold Schwarzenegger's voice. Considering I don't know what his voice sounds like... it's a bit of a problem.)**

 ***poof***

 **~Icy**


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